Defeated
by FictionMaker007
Summary: What would happen if Moreau came back? What would happen if he ever got ahold of Nathan Ford and his Team? How would go down if they were actually defeated? This heart-wrenching tragedy does contain some gruesome scenes. (Also contains an Eliot/Parker version of some chapters for those on team Eliot)
1. Chapter 1 (Nate)

"And-and he was so drunk he even let me take the Van Gough in his living room," Sophie was finishing up a funny story about one of her previous cons.

The team burst out laughing.

"It's true," she said between giggles, "he thought I was there to clean it and that I'd be back in the morning with it."

Five giant smiles practically lit the room. Nate reached for his bottle of scotch then leaned back in his chair as he took a sip. The feeling he had, sitting here with his wife and "family" for a Christmas dinner, was indescribable.

"Your turn, Eliot," Parker informed him, bouncing in her chair.

"My turn for what?" the hitter asked, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well, we all told a funny story but you."

Three more eager faces turned to him. Eliot looked reluctantly at the thief. One look into her sparkling blue eyes and he knew he couldn't say no.

"Alright," he began with a playful growl. He sat in thought for a moment before recalling a funny memory. "So I was in this little village in Saudi Arabia and-"

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Rapid beeping from Hardison's phone interrupted his recollection.

"Hold up," the hacker said, retrieving his phone from his jean pocket. Suddenly his face turned grave. "Uh, guys? Sorry to stop family fun night but security cameras a few blocks away just spotted a baddie."

Eliot sat up straight, "Who?"

Hardison almost dropped his phone. All he could choke out was: "A friend of Moreau."

"Damnit Hardison," the hitter yelled, bolting from his chair. "We gotta go now!"

As if on cue the front door to Hardison's restaurant burst off its hinges. The sound of footsteps neared the door to the back. Nate grabbed Sophie's hand and practically dragged her to the back door. Parker leapt across the table and joined them on their dash to the exit. Hardison was close behind. The mastermind looked over his shoulder to see Eliot preparing to fight. He knew the hitter would delay their pursuers even if it cost him his life.

"ELIOT RUN!" He screamed with such force the man found himself sprinting behind them before he could process what he was doing.

The door leading to the back was kicked down as about ten men heavily armed forced their way in. They followed the team as they burst out the backdoor. Nate knew their hunters wouldn't be able to reach them in time. Two seconds later he was wrenching the door open with more force than necessary. The five of them burst into the alleyway…straight into an ambush.

Nate's face fell as he found a dozen armed guys formed in a semi-circle around them. Sophie squeezed his hand and buried her head in his shoulder. When he glanced to his right, he saw Parker grasp Hardison's hand and he put his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. Eliot stood cold and defiant with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Clearly he wasn't planning to go without a fight.

A man in a black suit and shoes that looked like they'd never hit the pavement stepped forward.

"Well, well, well," he said while stroking his black, slick back hair, "look what we have here. The world's best criminals flushed out and trapped like rats."

"Who are you?" Nate demanded in an even voice.

"Just call me a matchmaker. I'm here to reunite you with an old friend."

"Which one?" The mastermind was afraid he already knew the answer.

"Moreau."

Sophie let out a gasp and Parker's eyes glistened with tears. The well-dressed man turned on his heel and snapped his fingers. Taking their cue, the armed men advanced.

The hitter changed his position to a fighting stance and the four men that surrounded him pointed their guns at him, obviously expecting him to surrender.

"Do it," he growled, "it'd be much better than being Moreau's prisoner."

One of the men rolled his eyes then grabbed a fistful of Parker's blonde hair. She gasped in pain and allowed herself to be shoved to her knees. He then shoved the barrel of his gun into her scalp.

"Come quietly Spencer or there's gonna be another body on your hands," the thief's captor commanded.

"You wouldn't. I bet my life Moreau wants all of us alive besides, you'd be doing her a favor."

"Eliot," Hardison begged as he was being dragged away with Sophie and Nate, "don't do it."

"Hardison, you don't understand-"

"Eliot," Parker said softly, "please."

He looked into her eyes and once again, he couldn't resist. Three men shoved him against the steel door and restrained his hands with flex cuffs.

That was the last thing Nate saw before a stale-smelling bag was placed over his head and he was shoved into a car.


	2. Chapter 2 (Sophie)

**A/N I'll try to keep up with the whole once a week thing, so hopefully you'll get to read a new chapter every Tuesday. Remember to leave a review (constructive criticism is welcomed) and check out some of my other stories **

_It'll be alright._ _It'll be alright._ _It'll be alright._ Sophie repeated those words over and over to herself. She felt if she kept thinking it, maybe it would be true.

Of course they were being taken to _Moreau_. Moreau, Lord of the Psychopaths. Moreau, Ruler of the Black Market. Moreau, Mass-Murderer. The man hell-bent on making the five of them suffer. Taking advantage of the privacy the sack over her face had to offer, the grifter cried silently.

_Stop it!_ She scolded herself but she couldn't help it. How could she?

These people were her family. Obviously she was bound to Nate through marriage and the others, well, it seemed odd but they always felt like the children she never had.

_Or will have_, Sophie thought miserably. _No, don't think about that. I can't think about that, not now._

Hardison, he even acted like a kid most of the time. A trouble-making, hacking, joke-telling, spirit-lifting, teenager trapped in the body of an adult. Aside from her, he was probably the best grifter on the team because she'd taught him to pour his heart into the character. That made it so believable. The problem was sometimes he got so wrapped up in enjoying and _being_ the character that he was _too_ believable.

Sophie smiled when she remembered Hardison calling her as "The Ice Man" when he was abducted by Russian goons. That man even asked her _not_ to tell Nate. Yes, he was a kid alright.

Parker, well, Parker was a class all her own. Next to Eliot, the thief was the most unsocial person Sophie had ever met. On some levels, she was even more so than the mysterious hitter. Still, hadn't she slowly taught her how to interact with people? Not just on cons but advice with Hardison too. When she was with Parker, that's when she felt most like a mother.

The mother/child relationship with Hardison and Parker was definitely more apparent than with Eliot. He was so ominous and secretive, it was hard to feel like a parent when it came to him, yet, Sophie did. Well, maybe not exactly a parent but she definitely had a role to play in easing the hitter into the idea of a family.

She lost herself in enjoyable memories of cons and Thanksgivings with the four of them. It seemed like an eternity before the car came to a screeching halt. Immediately the same terrible panic that inhabited her at the restaurant wormed its way back into her. Sophie squeezed Nate's hand, refusing to be separated from her husband. She felt hands seize her roughly and pull her out of the vehicle. Blindly, she stumbled and almost face planted but Nate grabbed her.

_Stay calm,_ Sophie reminded herself. _ You're with one of the world's smartest people, the best thief, most brilliant hacker, and scarily determined hitter. You'll get out of here._

Minutes later, she was pushed harshly into a chair but she still refused to loosen her grip on Nate. Finally, someone wrenched her fingers that were intertwined with her husband's. A sound that was a mixture between a moan and a gasp tumbled out of her throat. The sound of ripping duct tape and complaints from her companions filled the air around her. Sophie managed to feel slightly relieved that her family was nearby. She lost the circulation beyond her wrists and her foot fell asleep before the bag was removed. The harsh light made the grifter squint and blink rapidly. On her right, Hardison, Eliot, and Parker had their forearms and shins duct taped to metallic chairs just as she was. Her husband was bound to the left of her. Although he was just a few feet from her grasp, the grifter felt he might as well had been on the moon.

"Well it's about time," it was good to hear Hardison's lighthearted voice. "I got a killer itch on my nose and would it _kill_ you to wash the bag?"

She almost smiled until a voice interrupted any traces of happiness.

"My goodness, what a surprise!" a man's voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Here I was, just enjoying the fresh air, and some very dear friends come and pay me a visit."

"Moreau," Nate replied coldly. "Last I saw you, you were rotting in a little hole in San Lorenzo."

"Now, Nate, that's no way to great an old acquaintance."

Sophie's eyes finally adjusted to the brightness and she was able to look at the man standing in front of them. His cold, killer eyes glared at them menacingly.

Now Sophie had held a bomb, she'd been in a firefight, she'd been kidnapped, and had enough guns pointed at her to last her plenty of lifetimes but never had she been as scared as she was looking into that man's eyes. They were searing with hatred. They burned with a fire that threatened to engulf her as well, her and her family.

"Now," Moreau said, clapping his hands, "how have you been?"

"Just get on with it Moreau," Eliot growled.

"Ah, Spencer, see you haven't changed a bit."

The man approached the hitter and leaned toward him mockingly.

"Do they still let you be on their little team after what you've done or have you just neglected to tell them?"

Eliot glared at him, unblinking, but Sophie had known that men for years now and she could tell when a comment got under his skin. Moreau's statement had ripped his skin off and prodded bare flesh.

"What do you want, Moreau?" the grifter was surprised to hear Parker demand.

"Parker, I believe I have failed to welcome you properly."

Sophie didn't fail to see the man lick his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. She restrained a shudder when Damian placed his hand on the thief's cheek. The hitter practically jumped out of his chair and Hardison looked like he could chew steel. Parker jerked her head back and glared at him.

"My, my, you five are just as impolite as when I last saw you. No matter, I have a few friends who will be delighted to teach you manners."

Muscle men emerged from the darkness around them, seizing Sophie and her family.

Before the grifter could do a knowing "wink-and-nod" charade (though she knew it would probably come out forced and/or desperate) implying to keep hope they'd find a way to escape, Eliot said: "Don't let him know if he's broke you. Whatever you do, DON'T BEG!" He kept shouting things like that as they were dragged away and she knew all hope was lost.


	3. Chapter 3 (Hardison)

Hardison was gonna die. He'd come to terms with that as he sat in anxious wait for hours, days, months, years. Time didn't inhabit the silent darkness he was shoved involuntarily into. The small room he was in was cold and they kept the unwashed bag over his head, taking away his last form of defense: vision. To keep his mind off the inevitable fate of certain death, he tried to play math games with himself. That got boring _really_ quick. Then he attempted to name all the animals that started with the letter "e" and was able to come up with 17 before his brain started to hurt.

Soon his thoughts wondered to Parker and tears filled his eyes.

_What's happening to her?_ He asked himself but the only logical answers he could come up with made him sick.

Just then, there was the sound of a creaking door and footsteps. The bag was yanked off his head to reveal a small dude with fiery red hair and glasses. His perl shirt and jeans screamed: "I live with my mom," so what the heck was he doing in the mansion of a phyco?

"Hello, how are you today?" the guy asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Um…"

"I see you're confused."

"Damn right I'm confused! I've been kidnapped by Damien freakin' Moreau who wants to kill me and you're askin' me how I am? The hell's wrong with you boy?!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he shook his head. "You're very rude."

Hardison peered behind him to see if anyone else was standing in the doorway and saw two muscular men that looked like they came from a henchmen catalogue. They were wearing suits and had identical shoes and neatly combed hair.

"Well," the man continued, "Mr. Moreau has given me permission to begin testing."

"Testing? The hell's that supposed to mean?"

With a little difficulty, Redhead turned the hacker's chair around. Then, he became face-to-face with a machine that looked like it came out of a movie. It had a board standing upright with restraints obviously made to hold a person's wrists, waist, ankles, and head. The scary part was it had four needles pointing toward the area where the person's face would go. Hardison glanced at Redhead, who was staring at him as if he couldn't wait to strap him in and see what would happen.

"Aw, _hell_, naw! I am _not_ going in that thing!"

"I'm afraid, you have no choice."

The two men from the doorway advanced to Hardison, then, released him from the chair and forced him into the restraints that held him tantalizingly close to the very large needles.

"Good, good," Redhead said as he examined the hacker. "Your amygdala should be very active now.

"My amy-what now?" demanded Hardison.

"Your amygdala. It's the part of your brain that controls human emotions including…fear." The guy sounded like he rehearsed that in front of his action figures. "The content of these needles of are my own design. One is injected into the amygdala and induces mass amounts of fear. Two more go into your frontal lobe and alter your self-awareness so you believe your dream state is real, and the last one enters your temporal lobe and works with the ones in your frontal so your dream-state responds to what you hear."

Hardison had a lump stuck in his throat. He was going to say something clever and insulting the man, but what came out was a sound between a squeal, a cough, and a sob.

"We begin…now!"

"Wait," was all the hacker could manage before Redhead switched a lever on the side and the four needles bore into his skull.

Then he fell into darkness.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Jeez, my head," Hardison moaned when he woke up.

The hacker found he couldn't move as he tried to sit up. He was laying down on some kind of table as she hovered above him.

"Parker," relief flooded his voice when he saw she was okay. "Thank you so much, Babe, but we gotta get out of here."

"Oh, Hardison," she said, looking at him, "there's so much you don't understand. For example," she turned her back and advanced to the other side of the room, "I'm not here to save you," she faced him and put her hands on a large lever. "I'm here to hurt you," then she pulled the lever upwards and electricity coursed through his body and he screamed.

_It's a dream_, he tried to tell himself but as she kept mocking him, stroking his face, carelessly flipping the lever, he knew it _had_ to be real. Parker was here and she was the one in charge of torturing him.

"Tell me you love me," commanded Parker.

"I-I always loved you girl," gasped Hardison.

"LIAR!"

He began shaking as numerous volts flowed through him.

"You, _hate_ me! Say it! **SAY IT**!"

"P-Parker-"

"NO!"

She shocked him again and again. Laughing, screaming, and demanding him to say things that either hurt him to say because they were horrible lies or because she electrocuted him immediately after he gave an answer. Usually it was both.

It seemed like an eternity before he found himself in the cold room with the Redhead.

"Good start, good start," the phyco nerd was saying, scribbling notes on a clipboard. "Now we begin with stage two."

This time the hacker was in too much pain to resist. He cried softly as his world fell away beneath him and night wrapped around him like a cloak.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

When he woke up, he found himself free of restraints and, instead, it was Parker who was strapped to a table in front of him.

_She hurt me_, a voice that was not his own echoed in his mind. Part of him wanted revenge but a smaller part had the vague feeling that nothing was real, that this was an illusion or mirage or something.

As if they had minds of their own, his feet crossed over to the other side of the room.

"Hardison," she wheezed, "help me."

"No," he heard himself say.

Then he watched in horror as he flipped a familiar lever and watched Parker's body convulse as if in a trance. It was like she was dancing in a gruesome dance of agony and misery. She howled and screeched a terrible, animal sound that filled him with sickening feeling. He wanted to cry. Oh GOD how he wanted to scream and kicked and sob but most of all he wanted to turn it off but he couldn't. He couldn't take his eyes away nor could he free her or switch off the lever. The poor man couldn't even cover his ears. His whole world was Parker's pain and heinous laughter.

At first, he didn't recognize the owner of the repulsive chortling and he assumed it was Moreau but, as he discovered, it was him. No, that didn't make sense, for he was supposed to be yelling in unison with the thief's agony. But he could still here himself laugh and it killed him.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Hardison wailed. He was forced to watch Parker twitch unwillingly until he was sure it would kill her. And then it did. He killed Parker. The terrible thing was, he barely had anytime to mourn her death before the needles were re-filled and re-injected and he came face-to-face with Eliot. Instead of electrocution, the hitter was beating Hardison mercilessly. The man laughed manically and demanded that Hardison give him and Parker his blessing but mostly just hit him over and over.

It went on and on. Hardison was forced to take turns receiving and inflicting horrible tortures on his own family. Starting with Parker and ending with Nate.


	4. Chapter 4 (Parker)

**A/N Hey everybody, sorry if this story is a little disturbing, I actually had some trouble forcing myself to write this chapter. Also, if you want to read the Eliot/Parker version of this chapter, skip to the next chapter. If you don't want to read the E/P version then skip the next chapter. Anyway thanks for the support and be sure to check out some of my less-creepy stories and leave 3 and reviews. **

**P.S This is a seriously disturbing chapter so I wouldn't recommend it for those people who get freaked out easily (it has Moreau/Parker stuff ****) **

**P.S.S I'm going away for a week or so, so don't panic if there's not another chapter next week but I'll try to publish an extra one tomorrow.**

"Good-morning," a voice jerked Parker awake.

The thief opened her eyes to find Damien Moreau himself peering down at her. Automatically, she rose her fist to make a solid connection with his smirking face but found that her hands were bound. It took her a few moments but she finally realized her wrists were tied in complicated knots and manacled to the baseboard of a bed while her feet were bound at the foot.

"Now, I know it's none of my business," Moreau continued, "but I haven't seen you in a while so I have to ask, how's your relationship with Hardison going?"

Parker remained stone-faced, staring distastefully at her captor.

"I'd hate to seem rude, but the last I heard, you were a clueless virgin."

"What are you saying?"

The man reminded her of a spider. A distasteful, blood-sucking creature that enjoyed watching it's helpless victims writhe in it's nest. A ravenous spider.

"I'm saying, it's about time someone introduced you a very enjoyable exercise you have been missing out on."

_Oh dear God, this is not happening_, the thief thought. She closed her eyes and resisted a shudder as she felt Moreau's hands on her wrists, working their way down to her shoulders.

"Tell me, Parker, are you ticklish?" he inquired as he stroked her face.

In response, she jerked her head and bit down on the man's finger. Hard. Blood filled her mouth and suddenly, pain throbbed in her face.

"No biting," Moreau growled, cradling his bleeding digit. Then he grinned and said, "You should know I'm visiting Hardison when I'm done with you so be careful how your actions affect others."

Parker winced at "Hardison," she could imagine Moreau beating her boyfriend over and over just because she spat in his face or something.

"Now, I know you're new to this, so I promise I'll go slow."

The man took out a wicked-looking knife and at first the thief thought he was going to cut her fingers off. She couldn't have been more wrong. Instead of fingers, it was her shirt. In three expert slashes, her nearly naked chest was visible. Her body grew uncomfortably hot as she was held still by his perverted gaze.

"You know, you never did answer my question," he whispered harshly into her ear as he stroked her sides.

Parker bit her lip as his fingers journeyed across her torso. This was the most despicable sensation she'd had in her entire life. Wherever he touched her, her skin began to crawl as if bugs were scuttling underneath it. Suddenly, he stopped. She dared opened her eyes and before she could sigh with relief, she saw his hands go down to her pants and soon they were off too.

"We'll go slow, don't worry. I'll go slow."

Remembering Eliot's words, the thief refused to cry until she was certain Moreau had left.


	5. EliotParker 1

**A/N This is the Parker/Eliot version of the previous chapter and be sure to show me some likes or "what the heck were you thinking writing this chapter" in the comments**

**P.S This is a seriously disturbing chapter so I wouldn't recommend it for those people who get freaked out easily (it has Moreau/Parker stuff ****) **

"Good-morning," a voice jerked Parker awake.

The thief opened her eyes to find Damien Moreau himself peering down at her. Automatically, she rose her fist to make a solid connection with his smirking face but found that her hands were bound. It took her a few moments but she finally realized her wrists were tied in complicated knots and manacled to the baseboard of a bed while her feet were bound at the foot.

"Now, I know it's none of my business," Moreau continued, "but I haven't seen you in a while so I have to ask, how's your relationship with Hardison going?"

Parker remained stone-faced, staring distastefully at her captor.

"I'd hate to seem rude, but the last I heard, you were a clueless virgin."

"What are you saying?"

The man reminded her of a spider. A distasteful, blood-sucking creature that enjoyed watching it's helpless victims writhe in it's nest. A ravenous spider.

"I'm saying, it's about time someone introduced you a very enjoyable exercise you have been missing out on."

_Oh dear God, this is not happening_, the thief thought. She closed her eyes and resisted a shudder as she felt Moreau's hands on her wrists, working their way down to her shoulders.

"Tell me, Parker, are you ticklish?" he inquired as he stroked her face.

In response, she jerked her head and bit down on the man's finger. Hard. Blood filled her mouth and suddenly, pain throbbed in her face.

"No biting," Moreau growled, cradling his bleeding digit. Then he grinned and said, "You should know I'm visiting Hardison when I'm done with you so be careful how your actions affect others." When she withheld a reaction he casually added: "Of course, I'm also planning on checking on Eliot today.

Parker winced at "Eliot," she could imagine Moreau beating her the hitter over and over just because she spat in his face or something.

"Ah, so you care for him more than you care to admit. I should've asked you about your relationship with _Eliot_ was going. So, Parker, he has he stolen your virginity right under your boyfriend's nose? "

"He would _never_ do that to Hardison and I wouldn't either."

"But you _do_ love him, don't you?"

Parker fell silent.

"Hmm, very interesting, I wonder how he would feel if he could see you now. Now, I know you're new to this, so I promise I'll go slow."

The man took out a wicked-looking knife and at first the thief thought he was going to cut her fingers off. She couldn't have been more wrong. Instead of fingers, it was her shirt. In three expert slashes, her nearly naked chest was visible. Her body grew uncomfortably hot as she was held still by his perverted gaze.

"You know, you never did answer my question," he whispered harshly into her ear as he stroked her sides.

Parker bit her lip as his fingers journeyed across her torso. This was the most despicable sensation she'd had in her entire life. Wherever he touched her, her skin began to crawl as if bugs were scuttling underneath it. Suddenly, he stopped. She dared opened her eyes and before she could sigh with relief, she saw his hands go down to her pants and soon they were off too.

"We'll go slow, don't worry. I'll go slow."

Remembering Eliot's words, the thief refused to cry until she was certain Moreau had left.


	6. Chapter 5 (Eliot)

**Oh you poor, neglected readers I am SO SORRY for the delay. School started a few weeks ago and I was out of town for the last three weeks of summer. Anyway I am hell-bent on finishing this story wo without further ado, my next chapter (I luv you guys)**

To Eliot, torture was a decision between dignity and human endurance. Most times when he was in pain-inflicting situations like this one, he had to balance his survival and dignity. He was one who was more likely to keep his mouth shut and refuse to let his captors know he was truly suffering, however, a scream or moan could sometimes keep him alive long enough to escape. Allowing humiliating noises of agony to escape his lips sent a message to his detainer that they were getting through to him and had a reason not to kill him for just a while longer. The type of person that got ahold of you, though, that was a different story.

The hitter did his best to steer clear of sadistic physcos but some offered paydays he couldn't refuse. Other times saying yes would keep the lunatic off his back. In his lifetime, he'd met all kinds of people but none of them compared to the girl Moreau introduced Eliot to in his cell.

His area of confinement wasn't what you'd expect it to be like. There wasn't a steel chair with a bare, flickering bulb swaying hypnotically by a single wire. There were no gargantuan meat-sacks popping out of dark shadows or rusty manacles. No, there was sun. The hitter was being held in a white, sterile room with black-speckled tiles and a skylight directly above his cot. His bed and toilet was "fenced off" in one corner of the room and the only way in or out was through a door on the opposite side next to some kind of medical table and arm restraints that came out of the walls. The door was always open. After continuous hours of misery, Eliot would return to his corner, the guards would leave, and the only thing between him and his exit was a bunch of steel bars. Life sucked.

"Spencer, how do you like your accommodations?" Moreau asked in his silky accent as he strolled into the room.

"Go to hell," the hitter snapped impatiently. His back was bloody and screaming from being whipped just a half hour ago.

"I see you have yet to improve your socializing skills. Luckily, I brought someone to help with that." He gestured to a skinny brunette with a bun so tight it tugged at her face, that'd been following him.

The chic went straight up to Eliot and stared at him with intense green eyes. It felt like they were piercing his skin and peering at his innards. The hitter gave a slight, involuntary shiver.

"What do you think of?" the woman demanded.

"Excuse you?"

"When it hurts, what do you think of? Your childhood? Mother? Your team? A dog? Some Texas ranch?"

Eliot stood up, his entire back howling with protest as he did.

"Moreau's school boys with jump ropes don't hurt me."

"That wasn't the question."

"Yeah? Well, that was my answer."

"Fine, but choose your battles wisely Eliot."

"Enjoy life while you still got it."

The hitter's eyes sent a clear, murderous look. She stared right into them. Suddenly, the woman did the most bizarre thing, she grinned. It was a wide, somewhat disturbing grin and after she flashed it like a Cheshire cat, she whirled around and headed out the door.

"I'll see you in an hour, Eliot," she called to him as if they were best friends organizing a get-together.

Moreau took a few steps toward the hitter.

"She," the man began, "will break you."

"She," replied Eliot tersely, "can try."

Damien just grinned and headed out the door, whistling as he went. A cold feeling crawled down his throat and into his stomach. The hitter resisted a wince as he sat back down on his cot. Something about that man's whistling and confidence, and the woman's eyes and smile made Eliot believe that Moreau was right.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Nothing could've made Eliot Spencer believe that he would make it. Once he got to his prison, he figured he was going to die in that room. Of course, he'd had that feeling before but this time it was different. His time had come.

Two no-necked, prizefighter-typed guys forced the hitter out of his corner and onto the black table. In a white lab coat, the physco brunette loomed over him with a needle that contained a syrupy liquid.

"People like you," the woman said as she fiddled with the needle, "take shelter in the mind when confronting physical pain. I _could_ come up with all sorts of ways to tear you to pieces but I think we both know I wouldn't get anywhere."

Eliot looked blankly upwards as if she wasn't there.

"This is why," she continued, "I have a simple plan with a simple goal. The plan is to destroy wherever you take physiological refuge."

"Let me guess," the hitter said in a bored tone, "you're going to make me scream. You're not the first one to wave weapons in my face and say that."

"Oh, no, such an objection is child's play." She leaned forward until their noses were practically touching. Then, in a soft voice finished: "I'm going to make you cry like a baby."


	7. Chapter 6 (Nate)

**Hey guys, so obviously I have a new schedule now (I'll be posting a new chapter every weekend) and please like, leave comments, and just share the heck out of this story. P.S I have an idea for the worst thing Eliot did and I'm going to write a one-shot about it once I finish this fanfic and another one I've started called "The Time-Travel Job" you should check it out. Again luv feedback and I luve you guys.**

Nate stared at the empty crystal cup before him, willing it to fill with his favorite scotch. On and off his captors had been giving him alcohol; he never knew when or how much he'd receive. Sometimes he'd get an unlimited supply for hours only to suddenly stop. Other times the slot in his door would open at random intervals and a controlled amount of whiskey would be granted to him.

He sighed, most of the time sudden withdrawals caused him to hallucinate a mocking Sterling or disappointed Sophie but gradually they transformed into Moreau. It was the malicious detainer who stood before Nate now, stroking the vacant glass.

"Look at them, Nate. Glorious Nathan Ford, the "Man-With-The-Plan," Oh-So-Clever, Smartest-Man-In-The-Room Nate Ford. Look at you now. You're just a vulnerable little man in a cage. At least your cage has cable, why don't you look at them, Nathan?"

Slowly, as he always did, Nate turned away from his apparition and stared up at the screens that hung from the wall. There were four of them, each one hooked up to a camera. Each camera trained its watchful eye a member of Nate's only family. Each one was in pain. Each one needed him.

Hardison moaned and called out Nate's name. Whatever he was dreaming about the mastermind, it wasn't good. The hacker begged Nate to stop.

On the next screen was the love of his life: Sophie Deveroux. She'd been trying to con every single guard that ever stepped foot into her cell. It almost worked a few times too. One of them was convinced she had millions of dollars stored away in London (which she probably did) and was willing to hand over all of it in exchange for her freedom. Another thought Moreau captured her because she was CIA and working to put him back behind bars. A third believed Sophie had fallen in love with him and they were going to escape together. All three of them had been officially removed from their duties. Now she had different guards for every day of the week.

"That's my girl," Nate mumbled to himself every time he saw her work her magic. He also offered silent prayers that one of her tricks just might work, but it was a false hope.

Parker, oh, how he died a little bit inside every time he looked at the thief's screen. The first few times Moreau visited Nate's hallucinations, he'd tried to strangle him for what he'd done. After a few times of getting handfuls of nothing, he'd given up. Although Nate couldn't bare to watch Moreau's _visits_ to Parker, he couldn't look away from the sobbing girl once he'd left. Now her eyes were shut in a restless sleep.

The screen that showed probably the most unbearable was the hitter's. Nate stared as Eliot pointed at the tiled floor in panic.

"Roaches! Motherf***ing roaches all over the f***ing floor! God! Why do have snakes on your damn fingers!" The hitter would scream.

Whatever serum they'd given him, it worked. After Eliot's episode, that psychotic woman let him watch tapes of him yelling nonsense and running around the room like an idiot as the guards snickered. Although Eliot kept his face emotionless, Nate knew the man was burning with anger and mortification. Another day, they injected him with some sort of truth-telling concoction and asked him all kinds of questions, fully aware Nate could see the unraveling scene.

"Tell me, Eliot," the brunette began, unable to keep a disturbing smile off her face, "how many people have you killed?"

"I don't want to," the hitter said drowsily.

"Tell me, _now_."

"A hundred and-and sixteen."

"You slaughtered _that many _people? I suppose you tell yourself they deserved it, don't you. Is that how you're miraculously able to sleep at night?"

"Most of 'em did, some of 'em didn't."

That hit Nate like a punch in the stomach. Of course, he'd always known deep down inside the hitter had done some evil things in his lifetime but hearing it come out of Eliot's mouth was an entirely different experience. She continued to ask the hitter personal things like what he thought of the team, his relationship with Parker, how he _really_ thought about Nate's leadership, which members of his family was he willing to leave behind, approximately how many girls he'd slept with, etc. etc.

"Well then, our last question," the woman continued, "what's the worst thing you've ever done?"

The hitter inhaled sharply, attempting to control the words tumbling out of his mouth. Nate felt like Eliot was sucking the air out of his lungs as the story he'd never shared with anyone came into being. Tears that should've been coming from the hitter poured out of the matermind's eyes.

"How can you live with yourself?"

Silence.

"I guess this is a bad time to mention that you have an audience."  
More silence but Nate knew Eliot was worried who his spectators were.

The nameless brunette gestured toward the camera, "Say hi to Nate, Eliot."

The hitter continued to pretend to be lost in thought. When the woman left, Eliot looked up at the camera and mouthed the words: "I'm sorry."

Nate couldn't bring himself to hate Eliot, but he finally understood why the man said all those years ago why he'd never be clean of his sins.


End file.
